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'ii| ^ ■FlT ''""^ 'i''"''-' liiiip''! trcmblint,' throiit;li the fiuzeii grass, 

"~ And silent was the tluek in woolly fold n 

Vr.- ■ And back retiirncth, mcatire, baicfont, wan, 
' Oj' Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees ii 

At length burst in the argent revelrv, 

With plume, tiara, and all rich array 13 

They told her hnw, upon St. Agnes' eve, 

Voung virgins might have visions of delight 14 

Her niaitlen e^■es divine, fix'd on the flot)r, 

Saw many a sweeping train pass by 15 

Meantime, across the moors had come young Porphyro 17 

He startled her ; but soon she knew his face, 

And grasp'd his lingers in her pal.iied hand 19 

Which none but secret sisterhnod mav see 

When they St. .\gnes" wool are weaving piously .21 

But let me laugh awhile, I 've mickle time to grieve ... .22 

" .-\h, why wilt thou affright a feeble soul ? 
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing " 25 

When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid. 

Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware 27 



As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon, 

Rosebloom fell on her hands, together prest 29 

Clasped like a missal where swart Paynims pray 31 

Manila and dates, in argosy transferr'd 

From Fez 32 

And spiced dainties, every one, 

From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon 33 



Me play'd an ancient dittv. long since mute, 

In Provence call'd " La belle dame sans mercy." 

Pendant, Still Life 35 

Her eyes wide open, but she still beheld. 

Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep 37 

Into her dream he melted, as the rose 

Blendeth its odor with the violet 39 

Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found 41 

By one and one, the bolts full easy slide. 

The chains lie silent on the footworn stones 42 

TAiLriECE 43 




THE EVE OF ST. AGNES. 



1. 

St. Agxes' Eve — .\h, bitlcr chill it was! 
The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold ; 
The hare limp'd treinblini;- through the frozen grass, 
And silent was the flock in woolly fold ; 
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers while he told 
His rosary, and while his frosted breath, 
Like pious incense from a censer old, 
Seem'd taking flight for heaven without a death, 
Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. 



II. 

His prayer he saith, this patient, liolv man; 
Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees, 
And back retiirncth, meagre, barefoot, wan, 
Alony the chapel aisle by slow degrees : 
The sculptured dead on each side seem'd to freeze, 
Emprisoji'd in black, purgatorial rails. 
Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries. 
He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails 
To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails. 



III. 

Northward he turneth through a little door. 
And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue 
Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor. 
But, no — already had his death-bell rung; 
The joys of all his life were said and sung: 
His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve ! 
Anotlier way he went, and soon among 
Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve. 
And all night kept awake, for sinner's sake to grieve. 



IV. 

Tliat ancient Headsman heard the prehide soft ; 
And so it cluinced, for man\' a door was wide, 
I'^'om hurr_\' to and fro. Soon, up aloft. 
The silver, snarlinL,^ trumpets 'gan to chide; 
The level chambers, ready with their pride. 
Were glowing to receive a thousand guests; 
The carved angels, ever eager-e_\-ed. 
Stared, where upon their heads the cornice rests, 
With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. 



V. 

At length burst in the argent re\-elry, 
With plume, tiara, and all rich array. 
Numerous as shadows haunting fairil)' 
The brain, new stuff'd in \'outh, with triumphs gay 
Vi^ old romance. These let us wish awa\-. 
And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lad\' there, 
Whose heart had brooded all that wintry day 
On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care. 
As she had heard old dames full many times declare. 



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VI. 
They told licr liow, upon St. Agnes' Eve, 
Young virgins might ha\-e visions of dchglit, 
And soft adorings from their lijves receive 
Upon the lione}-'d middle of the niglit, 
If ceremonies due they did aright: 
As, supperless to bed they must retire. 
And couch supine their beauties, lily wliite; 
Nor look behintl, nor sideways, but require 
Of Heaven with upw.irtl eves for all that thev desire. 




Full of this whim was thuiightful MadeUnc; 
Tlie music, _\'carninL; hkc a i;(_)i_l in pain, 
She scared}' heard, — -she heeded not at all. In vain 
Came many a-tiptoe, amorous ca\-.ilier. 
And back retireil; not Cdiil'd b_\- hii;h disdain. 
But she saw nut: her heart was cjtherwhere; 
She siijh'd for Aynes' dreams, the sweetest of the year. 











1* 



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She danced along with vague, regardless eyes, 
Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short. 
The halli)\v'd hour was near at hand: she sighs 
Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort 
Of whisperers in anger or in sport; 
'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn, 
Hooduink'd with faery fanc_\-; all amort, 
Sa\'e to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn. 
And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn. 



I.X, 

So, purposing each moment to retire. 
She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors 
Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire 
For Madeline. ]5eside the portal doors, 
Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores 
All saints to give him sight of Madeline, 
But for one moment in the tedious hours, 
That he might gaze and worship all imseen ; 
Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss — in sooth such things have been. 



X. 

He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell; 
All eyes be muffled, ur a hundred swords 
Will stiirm his heart, Love's fe\'erous citadel. 
For him those chambers held barbarian hordes, 
Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords. 
Whose very doLjs would execrations howl 
Against his lineage ; not one breast aftbrds 
Him any mercy in that mansion iViul, 
Save one old beldame, weak in body antl in soul. 



XI. 
Ah, happy chance ! the aged creature came, 
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand 
To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame, 
Behind a broad hall-pillar, far bc}-ond 
The sound of merriment and chorus bland. 
He startled her; but soon she knew his face, 
And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand, 
Saying, " Mercy, Porphyro ! hie thee from this place !' 
They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race 1 



XII. 

" Get licncc ! p;ct licncc ! there 's dwarfish Hildebrand ; 
He had a fe\-er late, and in tile tU 
He cursed thee and thine, both house and land. 
Then there's that old l.uvd Maurice, not a whit 
More tame for his gray hairs — Alas me! flit! 
Flit like a ghost a\va_\' ! " — "Ah, Gossip dear. 
We 're safe enough ; liere in tliis arm-chair sit, 
And tell nie how" — "Good Saints! not here, not here! 
Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier." 

.\'1II. 
He follow'd through a lowly arched wa}-. 
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume; 
And as she mutter'd " \\'ell-a — well-a-da}- ! " 
He found him in <i little moonlit rontii, 
Pale, latticed, chill, and silent as a tomb. 
"Now tell me wliere is Madeline," said he; 
" O tell me, .\ngela, b}' the hol_\- loom 
\\ hich none but secret sisterhood ma\' see, 
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously." 



XIV. 
" St. Agnes ! Ah ! it is St. Agnes' P:ve : 
Yet men will murder upon lioly days! 
Thou must liold water in a witch's sieve, 
And be iiegeldrd of all the El\-es and Fays, 
To venture so: it fills me with amaze 
To see thee, Porphyro ! — St. Agnes' Eve ! 
God's help ! m_\' lady fair the conjurer [ilays 
This ver_\- night: good angels her deceive! 
But let me laugh awhile, I 've mickle time to grieve. 




XV. 

Feebly she laugheth in tlie languitl moon, 
While I'orphyro upon her face doth look, 
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone 
Who kecpeth close a wondrous riddle-book. 
As spectacled she sits in chininey'd no(jk. 
But soon his ej'es grew brilliant, when she told 
His lady's purpose ; and he scarce could brook 
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold, 
And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. 

XVI. 

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, 
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart 
Made purple riot : then doth he propose 
A stratagem that makes the beldame start. 
" A cruel man and impious thou art ! 
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep and dream 
Alone with her good angels, far apart 
From wicked men like thee. Go, go ! I deem 
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem." 

XVII. 
" I will not harm her, by all saints I swear," 
Quoth Porph\'ro. " Oh, ma_\- I ne'er find grace 
When my weak voice shall whisper its last pra\'er. 
If one of her soft ringlets I displace. 
Or look with ruffian passion in her face ! 
Good Angela, believe me by these tears ; 
Or I will, even in a moment's space. 
Awake with horrid shout m_\- foemen's ears. 
And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears." 



XVIII. 
"Ah! why wilt tlioii affriLjhl a feeble soul? 
A poor, weak, pals)'-strickeii, church\-ard thing, 
Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; 
Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening. 
Were never miss'd?" Thus 'plaining doth she bring 
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro; 
So woful, and o( such deep sorrowing. 
That Angela gives promise she will do 
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe ; 

XIX. 

Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy, 
Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide 
Him in a closet of such privacy 
That he might see her beauty uncspied, 
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride. 
While Icgion'd fairies paced the coverlet, 
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-e>-ed. 
Never on such a night have lovers met, 
Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt. 

XX. 

"It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame; 
" All catcs and dainties shall be stored there 
Quickly on this feast-night; by the tambour frame 
Her own lute thou wilt see. No time to spare, 
I'^or I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare 
On such a catering trust my dizz\- head. 
Wait here, my child ; with patience kneel in prayer 
The while. Ah ! thou must needs the lady wed. 
Or may I never leave my grave among the dead." 



XXI. 

So saN'iii!^, she hobbled (ill witli busy fear. 
The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd. 
The dame retuni'd, and whisper'd in his ear 
To follow her, — with aged eves aghast 
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last, 
Through man)' a diisk\' galler_\-, the_\' gain 
The Maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste; 
Where Porphyro took co\-ert, pleased amain. 
His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain. 

XXII. 
Her faltering hantl upon the balustrade, 
Old Angela was feeling for the stair. 
When Madeline — St. Agnes' charmed maid 
Rose, like a mission'd spirit unaware. 
With silver taper's light, and pious care. 
She turn'd, and down tha aged gossip led 
To a safe level matting. Now prepare, 
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed ! 
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled I 

XXIII. 
Out went the taper as she hurried in; 
Its little smoke in pallid moonshine died. 
She closed the door, she panted, all akin 
To spirits of the air, and visions wide: 
No utter'd syllable, or woe betide ! 
But to her heart her heart was voluble. 
Paining with eloquence her balmy side, — 
As though a tongueless nightingale should swell 
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell. 



XXIV. 

A casement high and tri[)Ie-arcli'd there was, 
All garlanded with carven imageries 
(^f fruits aiul flowers and bunches of knot-grass, 
And diamonded with panes of quaint device, 
Innumerable of stains and splendid d\"es 
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings; 
And in tlie midst, 'mong tliouiand heraldries. 
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings, 
A shielded 'scutcheon blush'd with blood o*" queens and kings. 

XXV. 

Full on this casement shone the wintry moon, 
And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast; 
As down she knelt for Heaven's grace and boon 
Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest, 
And on her sih'er cross soft amethx'st, 
And on her hair a glor_\-, like a saint: 
She seem'il a splendiil angel, newly drest, 
Save wings, for heaven. — I'orphyro grew faint: 
She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint. 

.XXVI. 
Anon his heart revi\"es : her vespers done. 
Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees; 
Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one, 
Loosens her fragrant bodice ; by degrees 
Her lich attire creeps rustling to her knees: 
Half-hidtli^n like a mermaid in sea-weed. 
Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees 
In fanc}' fair St. Agnes in her bed. 
But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled. 



XXVII. 
Soon, trcmbliiiL; in licr soft and cliilh' nest, 
In sort of wakeful swoon, perplcx'd she l:\y. 
Until the poppied wai'mth of slce]3 oppress'd 
Her soothed limbs, and soul fatii^ucd away 
Flown like a thouLjht, until the iiKurow da_\' 
Blissfully ha\'en'd both fi'oni jo\- and paui ; 
Clasp'd like a missal where swart Pa_\'nims pi'a}-; 
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain, — 
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. 



xxnii 

Sti)len to this paradise, and so entranced, 
Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, 
And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced 
To wake into a slumberous tenderness; 
Which when he heard, that minute did he bless. 
And breathed himself: then fmm the closet crept. 
Noiseless as fear in a wild wilderness, 
And over the hush'd carijet, silent, slept, 
And 'tween the curtains pceji'd, where, lo ! — how fast she slept. 



XXIX. 

Tlicii b\' the bcd-sidc, \\lu;rc the faded moon 
Made a dim silver twilight, soft he set 
A table, and, half aiiguish'd, threw thereon 
A cloth o[ \vo\en crimson, Ljold and jet, — 
Oh, for some drowsy Morphean amulet! 
The boisterous, niidniL;ht, festive clarion, 
1 he kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet 
AflVay liis ears, though but in dying tone. — 
The hall-door shuts again, and all the noise is gone. 



xxx. 

And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep 
In blanched linen, smooth, and la\-ender'd, 
While he from forth the closet brought a heap 
Of candied ap[)le, quince, and plmn, and gourd; 
With jellies soother than the crcam\- curd, 
And lucent s}-rups, tinct with cinnamon ; 
Manna and dates, in argosy transfcrr'd 
From Fez ; and spiced dainties, ever}- one, 
From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon. 
















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XXXI. 
These delicatcs lie heap'd with ;4K:)\vin,t; liand 
On golden dishes and in baskets bright 
Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand 
In the retired quiet of the night, 
f'illing the chill)' room with perfume light. — 
"And UdW, m_\- love, my seraph fair, awake! 
Thou art my hea\-en, and I thine eremite: 
Open thine e}'es, for meek St. Agnes' sake. 
Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache." 

XXXII. 
Thus whispering, his warm, unner\-ed arm 
Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream 
By the (.lusk curtains; — 'twas a midnight charm 
Impossible to melt as iced stream. 
The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam; 
Broad golden fringe ujion the carpet lies. 
It seem'd he ne\'er, never could redeem 
From such a steadfast spell his lady's eyes: 
So mused awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies. 

XXX I IT. 
Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — 
Tumultuous, — .uid, in chords that tenderest be, 
He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute, 
In Pri>\'ence call'd " La belle dame sans mercy," 
Close to her ear touching the melod\' ; 
Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan. 
He ceased — she panted (_|uick — and suddenly 
Her blue aft"ra\'ed e\-es wide open shone: 
Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. 



XXXIV. 

Her eyes were open, but she still beheld, 
Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep : 
There was a painful change, that nigh cxi:)eird 
The blisses of her dream so pure and deep. 
At which fair Madeline began to weep, 
And moan forth witless words with many a sigh ; 
While still her gaze on Porphx-ro would keep, 
Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye. 
Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly. 

XXXV. 

" Ah, Porphyro ! " said she, " but even now 
Thy voice was at sweet tremljle in mine ear, 
Made tunable with ever\- sweetest vow; 
And those sad e\'es were spiritual and clear. 
How changed thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear! 
Give me that voice again, m_\' Porph\-ro, 
Those looks immortal, those complainings dear ! 
Oh, lea\e me not in this eternal woe, 
For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go." 



XXXVI. 
Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far 
At these x'ciluiituous accents, he arose 
Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star 
Seen 'mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose; 
Into her dream he melted, as the rose 
Blendeth its odor with the \iolet, — 
Solution sweet. Meantime the frost-wind blows 
Like Lo\'e's alarum, pattering the sharp sleet 
Against the window-panes: St. Agnes' moon hath set. 

XXXVI I. 
'Tis dark; quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet: 
"This is no dream, m\" bride, my Madeline! 
'Tis dark; the iced gusts still rave and beat: 
" No dream, alas ! alas ! and woe is mine ! 
Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. 
Cruel ! what traitor could thee hither bring? 
I curse not, for m\- heart is lost in thine, 
Though thou forsakest a dece!\-ed thing, — 
A dove forlorn and lost, with sick unpruned wing." 

XXX\"III. 
" M)- Madeline ! sweet dreamer ! lovel\- bride ! 
Sa\', ma)' I be for aye thy vassal blest, 
Thy beauty's shield, lieart-shaped and vermeil d\-cd> 
Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest 
After so man\- hours of toil and tiuest, 
A famish'd pilgrim, — sa\-ed by miracle. 
Though I have found, I will not rob th\' nest 
Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well 
To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel." 



XXXIX. 
" Hark ! 't is an elfin storm from faciry land, 
Of hagLjard seeming, but a boon indeed. 
Arise — arise! the morning is at hand; 
The bloated wassailers will ne\er heed. 
Let us awa)', my loxe, with happy speed ; 
There are no ears to hear, or e\-es to see, — 
Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleep}- mead; 
Awake ! arise I my lo\e, and fearless be. 
For o'er the Southern moors I ha\'e a home for thee. 



XL. 

She hurried at his words, beset with fears. 
For there were sleeping dragons all around, 
At glaring watch, perhaps, with read}- spears. 
Dow n the wide stairs a darkling wa}' the}' fnund, — 
In all the house was heard no human sound. 
A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering b}- each door; 
The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound, 
Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar. 
And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor. 



XLI. 
Tliey glide, like piiantonis, int<_i the wide hall ; 
Like phantoms to the inm porch they glide, 
Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl, 
With a huge emptx' tlagon b_\- his side; 
The wakeful bloodliound rose, and shook his hide, 
But his sagaci(jus eye an inmate owns. 
H\- one, and one, the beilts full eas}- slide; 
The chains lie silent on the footwoi-n stones ; 
The key turns, and the tloor upon its hinges groans. 

.\LII. 
Antl they are gone ! a)', ages long ago 
These lovers iletl awa_\' int<i the storm. 
That night the Baron ilreamt of many a woe. 
And all his warrior-guests, with shacJe and form 
Of witch anil ilemon anil large coffm-worm. 
Were long be-nightmared. Angela the okl 
Died pals\--twitch'd, with meagre face deform ; 
The lieadsman, after thousand .i\es told. 
For a)-e unsought-for slept anK'iig his ashes cold. 




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